


I Give My Body, That I Be Burned

by Inspire_me_to_breathe



Category: Alexander Hamilton - Ron Chernow, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Anal sex hehehe, Angst, Banter, Bottom Alexander Hamilton, Canon Compliant, Feeeeeeelings, First Kiss, Grinding, Historical, Just bros being bros, Lams - Freeform, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Religion, Sexual Tension, Smut, Talking about a girl as an excuse to masturbate together, Tent Sex, UST, but the kind of banter the 1700s had, implied period-typical and internalised homophobia, that's a thing right?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-09-13 12:05:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9122854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inspire_me_to_breathe/pseuds/Inspire_me_to_breathe
Summary: “My God… Laurens.” Hamilton panted. There was a wild look in his eye.Laurens breathed out, “How does it feel?”Alexander had nothing to say. Instead, he let his head fall back, eyes screwed close.“Do you imagine Miss Kitty?” Laurens tried.“Yes,” Hamilton moaned, “I imagine… her.”“And?”The other man writhed on his bed, “You.”





	1. Corinthians

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited, this is my first fic in like 3 years so be nice to me! I've recently become obsessed with Hamilton and I just couldn't not write something, especially when this ship is pretty much historical canon ;) For that reason (and bcos I'm also obsessed with linguistics), I tried to make the speech and the description sound authentic and old-timey, which basically means just really long sentences and a flipton of clauses...
> 
> Anyway, it's good to be back, so enjoy!

Perhaps by divine coincidence (if such a contradiction were possible – Laurens would have to go back to the homilies to answer that), Alexander Hamilton returned to their tent just as John’s hand fell upon the Geneva Bible; the coincidence being that anybody who spent more than a minute in the young Colonel’s, somewhat _exotic,_ company would soon be in need of a priest and of confession.

Not that Hamilton could be described as un-Christian, at least not in Laurens’s eyes, but his idea of Christianity was a rather liberal one. It amused Laurens more often than not, but having completed his tasks for the day – a backlog of which had tethered him to the soldier’s camp while the other aides visited a nearby town – he had intended to read for as long as his wick did not burn out. At this hour, he was not sure he retained the strength of spirit to tolerate Hamilton’s histrionics.

The man in question fumbled with the tent’s flap, muttering to himself _sotto voce_ as he was want to do _._ Hamilton was drunk; this much could be ascertained even without Laurens’s good knowledge of his friend’s character, and the reason for the drunkenness was equally apparent. For that reason, and that reason alone, Laurens’s eyes imitated his hand in falling to the bible, and he read:

_And though I feed the poor with all my goods, and though I give my body, that I be burned, and have not love, it profiteth me nothing._

Laurens knew Corinthians well. He had heard lectures on this passage before, but with the soft halo of the candle insinuating warmth upon the scene, he briefly considered an alternative, isolated meaning. _Love or nothing. Burn or nothing._ Scripturally incoherent, but romantic, and something Hamilton would have likely argued just to be antagonistic.

“That damned Kitty – I told you of her, Laurens – that little vixen, she had me quite convinced that tonight she would finally accept my invitation of-” at this point, Hamilton leered, “ _friendship_. But no! She declines. I cannot comprehend it.”

“I assume because the ale has stunted your mental faculties, and you seem to have misunderstood her intentions. Miss Livingston is a flirt, but not debased enough as to seek your companionship.”

“Why, you insult me, Laurens.”

John cast his eye over the other man, and was slightly surprised to indeed see a flicker of hurt pass over the Colonel’s features. Hamilton’s whole body was radiating with uncertainty; his hair half-fallen from its queue, strands pushed back with shaking hands as he took a fawn-like stumble closer to John’s desk. The lack of self-assurance was unfamiliar but, Laurens fancied, not improbable. While Hamilton said fairly little about his past, his body language often betrayed a kind of simultaneous – or, rather, cyclical – self-awareness and self-destruction.

Instead of embarrassing his friend by probing, Laurens commented lightly, “To flatter you would do greater damage, in the long run.” It was not perhaps the most tactful remark, and, at Hamilton’s drunken grimace, he hastily cleared his throat. “Will you not sleep now?”

A contemplative hum from low in the throat was the only consideration Hamilton gave to this suggestion. Rather, he diverted his energies into swaying on his feet and gazing imploringly at his friend.

“Had you but seen her, you too would have been bewitched by this Alcina, this modern Circe-”

“If she be Circe, you are thus transformed into a wild, raving beast,” Laurens interjected, teasingly, stretching his cramping limbs, “and from the impression crudely-formed in this darkness, I can confirm I see only ravaging limbs and flashing teeth standing before me instead of my once-friend. Be gone, devil!”

“John!” Hamilton protested, wincing at the volume of his own voice, “If I were a devil, trust me when I say I would have already brought an apocalypse down upon you.” He raised one shoulder in a dismissive shrug, “Besides, I’d rather Kitty Livingston worshipped me as a god.”

Laurens huffed a laugh as he gestured to his bible, “ _Love doth not boast itself_ , don’t you recall? _It is not puffed up._ ”

The quote incited Hamilton’s indignation to rise again, vocalised in a curious manner not unlike a scorned pup, as he at last found his way to his bed-roll. “You insult me.” He half-whispered, “Kitty insults me. Am I the most insulted man in the continent?”

“I doubt it, Alexander, for no one knows enough of you to bother with calumny.”

“Hmm,” the younger man was not amused, and so followed this with a suitable barb, “Kitty asked after you. She desired to know why on Earth you declined her good company tonight. I told her you were a man of great moral fibre, but, alas, one of little agreeability when it came to the finer things in life.”

“And how did the venerable Miss Kitty respond?”

“She informed me that Mr Laurens was a bore, and that she would be inclined, if she were Circe, to magic him into the shape of that creature which indeed shares the same name.”

“She never did.”

“Aye, I swear by it. She then said if a boar would not do, then a whelping bitch.”

He choked back laughter. “Hamilton! A lady would not use such vulgarity in public. I detect falsehoods in your story.”

“It is true – because she did not say it aloud, by which another might hear her, but she whispered it, softly, into mine ear, while dancing so close I could understand every hushed word with perfect clarity.”

Laurens detected a slight movement from the darkened bedroll as Hamilton shifted his position in pursuit of a more comfortable one.

“And that was not all of the secrets she poured into my ear, my dear Laurens, oh, no! She wrapped herself against me, her forehead pressed to my jaw and told me such marvellous things I dare not repeat.”

Hamilton’s boasts were both palpable and disagreeable so John made an incredulous noise of scorn, hoping to deter his friend from continuing. It did not work.

“I noted she smelt of lavender, but her cheeks bloomed with the first yield of summer roses.” He sighed happily, “Her body was so small and soft against mine, and her fingers lingered at my neck. I thought I might perish in her embrace, as the poets write – but it’s true! It is enlivening, to feel another held against you, especially one so delicate and pure. We found a room alone and she allowed me to trace the shape of her legs, like marble, like a goddess, if not for their suppleness and warmth, and I held her in my arms. She gazed at me and her lips were so… tempting, so indiscreet. I could have kissed her, God strike me down, right there. I could have felt her skin beneath my own lips and tasted… oh, tasted Heaven!”

“Really.”

He was ignored as a thought occurred to Hamilton, “Are gods such as I not made to live in Heaven, Laurens?”

Silly philosophy; offering levity to a situation that was becoming profoundly uncomfortable, and so John allowed himself a chuckle. “Could her body be your home? Her rooms do not appear particularly spacious.”

“To be within her would be sanctuary, I assure you.”

At this, Hamilton’s breath hitched, and Laurens paused. While the other man continued his fanciful effusions, using clever words to render Kitty’s very touch tangible, he lifted the candlestick in order to illuminate the shadowed corners of the tent. The pale skin of Hamilton’s throat was first thrown into bright relief, as the tilted position of his head bared it to the light. Laurens was struck by how the supine figure trembled, half covered with a course blanket, half stretched out as if presenting a sacrifice on the altar. The other man’s activities in the dark became immediately apparent.

“Hamilton.”

The ode to Kitty did not cease.

He tried again, more forcefully, “Hamilton.”

“Laurens?” Hamilton gasped.

“Do you require me to leave?”

“No,” his voice was becoming increasingly breathless, “Stay.”

“I cannot bear witness to this.”

“Close your eyes, then.”

The impatience of Hamilton’s tone was enough to give Laurens pause.

“You truly wish for my presence while you… while…”

“Laurens,” the prone figure interrupted, “What would you do if Miss Kitty walked in here right this moment?”

“For God’s sake, Hamilton! I would cover you fully with the blanket and beg the poor woman’s forgiveness!”

“Yes... you would beg,” Alexander agreed, his focus shifting to some distant place, “Would she not bestow mercy as easily as kisses?”

Laurens stood abruptly to leave and Hamilton paid him no mind.

“Oh, John, a gentleman would not scorn her forgiveness!”

“A gentleman would not…” Laurens stuttered in appal, “Would not speak of such things!”

“Well, then,” he retorted, finally stopping the energetic motions. The unexpected quiet of the tent burned hotly and Hamilton’s words became accented by either anger or lust, “You forget I am no gentleman – nothing but a creole, bastard-”

“Alexander, please!”

They glared at each other. In a few quick strides, John had stalked over to him, all embarrassment forgotten.

“Your behaviour is pitiable, but your status is not. A gentleman? Undoubtedly! You have your honour as aide to General Washington, as part of this revolution, as a soldier! So, do not squander it. Do not say such things.”

At this, Hamilton flushed an even darker colour. “Do you command me?”

“Command…?”

Was this a trick? Had it all been a trick? Laurens frowned down at the younger man, who gazed back in a very queer fashion – defiant, yet biting his lip. It struck Laurens suddenly as coquettish, and with that he noticed how Alexander’s legs had shifted imperceptibly outwards, spreading in front of him, quite possibly without even conscious thought. His breeches were still gathered around his thighs in that incriminating manner, his member hard and glistening, gripped loosely by a shaking hand.

He was at a loss for words. “Alexander…”

The man only moaned in reply, and began stroking himself again with his eyes locked on John’s.

“Do you wish for me to stop?” There was a very real fear contained in those burning words, and Laurens was unsure how to respond. A matching fire began to pool in his own belly. Hamilton’s hand increased its pace with every second they stared at each other. His chest was rising fast with shallow breaths, and the air felt dangerously alight with electricity.

At last, Laurens, not daring to move, consented.

“Keep going.”

The words seemed to have a profound effect on Hamilton who – having just accused John of being the whelping bitch – now whined as if he was in heat, desperate and low. Laurens dropped to his knees. It had not been his intention, but he likewise now splayed his fingers against the side of Hamilton’s jaw, seemingly without thought. The other man sank into his touch.

“My God… Laurens.” Hamilton panted. There was a wild look in his eye.

Laurens breathed out, “How does it feel?”

Alexander had nothing to say. Instead, he let his head fall back, eyes screwed close.

“Do you imagine Miss Kitty?” Laurens tried.

“Yes,” Hamilton moaned, “I imagine… her.”

“And?”

The other man writhed on his bed, “You.”

Laurens blinked in shock, but did not falter. “What am I doing?”

“You are lying over her. You are lifting up her skirts.”

“Then what?”

“You… you enter her. You’re rough, but she… she _likes_ it.”

Laurens allowed his hand to drift to the fevered skin of Hamilton throat. His pressed down lightly upon the cartilage and felt a fluttering heartbeat underneath his fingertips. “What else?”

“God, I…” Hamilton’s eyes widened, and at once Laurens drew his palm away. But just as quickly, Hamilton’s free hand flew up to catch it there, and encouraged the pressure against his throat once more, harder.

“Oh, Alexander,” John whispered, “You are exquisite.”

The praise was enough, it seemed, for Alexander Hamilton to fall apart. With a final gasp of John’s name, and one last tug, he spilled his seed into his own hand.

The moments that followed were as a dream. The breathing space in the tent seemed tropical – the air enflamed with candle-light and the humming of the blood in their veins. Laurens watched as Hamilton’s whole body went lax, his chest still heaving, and regarded his friend with a barely diminished intensity. But those black eyes were too sharp to remain in the clutches of for long, so Laurens dropped his gaze and stood.

“John?”

The word was loaded, and Laurens did not have the strength to unpack it. Instead, he rose from his place on the floor and returned to the writing desk, picking up his abandoned bible and flicking through the pages. He turned his eyes down.

_Love suffereth long: it is bountiful: love envieth not: love doth not boast itself: it is not puffed up._

He heard Alexander sigh from across the room; a long, pained noise.

_It doth no uncomely thing: it seeketh not her own thing: it is not provoked to anger: it thinketh no evil._

“Laurens, will you pass me that handkerchief?”.

John complied silently, and then heard the other man wipe away his mess, before discarding the cloth somewhere in the darkness.

_It rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth._

“You are not angry with me, are you?”

_It suffereth all things: it believeth all things: it hopeth all things: it endureth all things._

“No, Alexander. Go to sleep.”

_Love doth never fall away, though that prophesyings be abolished, or the tongues cease, or knowledge vanish away._

Again, John heard an unhappy sound. He gripped the pages of the bible tighter.

“I am drunk, my dear Laurens. That is all.”

_For we know in part, and we prophesy in part._

John nodded his comprehension, and Alexander seemed to settle down amongst the blankets.

_But when that which is perfect, is come, then that which is in part shall be abolished._

If it were possible to read through the night, Laurens would do it. To lie in the dark, with Hamilton breathing nearby, seemed to be a cruel kind of punishment after what had just occurred. His hands longed to wander from their grip on the book.

_When I was a child, I spake as a child: I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things._

No, he must distract himself from his body’s imperatives. Already, he could feel the heat cooling, being replaced with something much more sickly. Alexander had been quiet for a while now.

_For now we see through a glass darkly: but then shall we see face to face. Now I know in part: but then shall I know even as I am known._

He was known now. He bowed his head and kept on reading. He expected he would resent the morning, when it came.

_And now abideth faith, hope and love, even these three: but the chiefest of these is love._

Before he could finish the sentence, the wick of his candle burnt out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it!
> 
> Fun fact: while researching, I discovered that in 1772, 'shaft of delight' was slang for 'penis'... so, you know... just mentioning that... don't believe me? check it out http://timeglider.com/timeline/194b572e19fd461b


	2. Principia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is called 'Principia', or alternatively 'Alexander and John use physics to justify a lil' grinding'
> 
> or alternatively, 'John gets distracted again when he tries to read, like, damn, this boy can't even get through one sentence without his mind wandering'
> 
> or alternatively... you know what, I'll just let you read it.

Laurens did not resent the following morning as much as he had anticipated, for it was impossible to not experience some degree of contentment in the warming company of the sun’s first rays. He was not a man who enjoyed being proven wrong but, on this occasion, the refutation of his gloomy prediction was not unwelcome. He stretched leisurely, soaking up the warmth.

Day break was Hamilton’s natural waking time, however today he was yet to stir. Laurens could only gauge his hazy outline under the blankets, and hear the gentle rise and fall of this breathing. There was still a good half hour before the Reveille, and so Laurens felt no urgency in waking him. To the best of his knowledge, any reason for which Hamilton slept late was a gift to the whole camp by God himself, in his abundant generosity. Those moments of silence today were cooling against Laurens’s otherwise fever-stricken mind.

He had not slept. This being the reason for his feverish interior tumult, and that, through greater reason, was due to the incident of last night. The image of Hamilton – supine, panting, _undone_ – was imprinted onto the innermost folios of Lauren’s brain. Had the experience been a book, Hamilton would have been the poetry embellishing the page.

The devil himself groaned from the heaped blankets, and began moving. He shuddered and pitched dangerously as he somehow arranged himself into a kneeling position, blinking against the morning sun.

“Laurens?”

John winced at how rough his friend’s voice was.

“Yes?”

Hamilton grunted in reply and crawled towards the source of John’s words.

“The light must be British.” He complained, toppling down onto Lauren’s bedroll.

“How so?”

“It intends to torture me.”

Laurens huffed out a quiet laugh, and allowed his friend to rest his head upon his chest. It was not strange for them to lie adjacent for any number of reasons – warmth, companionship, convenience. Still, the contact made John ache in a very uncommon way.

Hamilton whimpered, “May your blankets be the Continental Army?”

The metaphor took a second to register, but soon Laurens had ensconced him out of the sight of the British in the safety of his bedroll.

“Are you not up to fighting today, _mon petit lion_?”

Hamilton made a shushing noise, and buried his face deeper into Laurens’s shirt, “I’m making, what some might call, a tactical retreat.”

“Into me,” John noted, being met with only a chuckle before the other man began to doze.

John lay back, staring at the canvased ceiling of the tent. With Alexander in his arms, it was harder to forget what has transpired in the candle-lit moment of his heated inebriation. John required a distraction and, with one arm pinned down by the weight of his friend, used the other to locate whichever book may be lying nearest the bed.

_Newton's Principia: the mathematical principles of natural philosophy._

Fascinating to some, perhaps. It was not one of his, most likely one of Hamilton’s or borrowed from Lafayette. He flipped to a random page with a kind of curious acceptance.

_But after I had begun to consider the inequalities of the lunar motions, and had entered upon some other things relating to the laws and measures of gravity, and other forces…_

Hamilton made a quiet, muffled noise; being in sleep, as with other things, always rather vocal. Laurens glanced down to ensure he was not uncomfortably positioned.

_…and the figures that would be described by bodies attracted according to given laws…_

His shirt was being gripped loosely in one of Alexander’s hands. Those hands, which last night had been occupied in unspeakable activities.

_…and the motion of several bodies moving among themselves…_

Had last night been a sin? It had been infused with all the temptation of Eden. Could Laurens now be due divine retribution?

_…the motion of bodies in resisting mediums…_

Or had Hamilton, in all his wild-eyed glory, been sent as punishment for sins already committed?

_…the forces, densities, and motions, of mediums; the orbits of the comets._

Lord, help him. He snapped the volume closed and screwed his eyes in prayer, asking for forgiveness. He was implicated, he had aided and abetted Hamilton’s own misdeeds.

“John, my dear, what is the matter?” Hamilton murmured from somewhere below his chin.

The question was avoided, “Did I wake you?”

“Do not fret - I was barely sleeping, and I should have already risen an hour ago.”

“You’re in no fit state to be running around camp-”

The other man shot upwards. “I can still carry out my duties!”

He sounded like a scolded child and Laurens sighed, similarly shifting into a sitting position to face him, “I don’t doubt it. I meant, you’re in not fit state for General Washington to see you. What possessed you to drink so much last night?”

His friend’s eyes were cast down guiltily, “We had already been drinking – Tilghman, Reed and Lafayette – and then I met my appointment with Miss Livingston.”

“Ah,” Laurens composed another quick prayer for mercy, “And this prompted you to imbibe the whole tavern?”

“To a certain extent – yes.”

“And then you came back here.”

At those words, Hamilton’s face flushed in embarrassment, indicating that even if last night had stolen his discretion, it had not stolen his memory. “Laurens, I hope you can forgive me. My behaviour was appalling and inexcusable and I- I wish for you to understand that it will not happen again. What possessed me, I shall never know, I am truly sorry-”

“Alexander,” Laurens interjected mildly, “Pay it no mind.”

“Pay it…?” His confusion was evident. “You have forgiven me?”

John’s own inner turmoil sparked up again. Laurens had been sober. He should have been the one to correct Hamilton’s skewed judgement. With no small amount of self-directed guilt, Laurens assured his friend, “There has been no trespass made upon God’s law.”

“But-”

“I have studied the Bible in Geneva with estimable Churchmen and have found no passages that forbid the spilling of one’s own seed.”

Hamilton looked doubtful, and John had to fight hard to keep his own misgivings from marring his assumed neutrality. He continued, gently, “As such, we need not concern the Lord with last night’s events.”

“But Leviticus…”

“We did not lie together, Hamilton.” John’s voice rose sharply, as it suddenly occurred to him how close they sat together on the bedroll. “I see no injury done upon the Lord’s word.”

Hamilton moved back slightly, creasing his brow as he considered some branch of high theology. Laurens waited for the inevitable conclusion, but his friend surprised him.

“So, as long as we do not ‘lie together’ – that being, in colloquial terms, do not commit sodomy – then there is no sin committed?”

Laurens gaped.

“Lafayette has spoken often of his sea voyages. He says that sailors often engage in shared activities in order to maintain their spirits throughout the long months away from home. He says it is not sin if it is not sodomy.”

“Does he now,” Laurens responded weakly.

“Of course,” Hamilton looked up through his lashes, “That does not mean I intend to pursue any further activities in your presence, just that what has already occurred can be forgiven through both common and divine law.”

Laurens nodded, albeit a little jerkily. “Your logic is flawless.”

“So may I suggest that we be done with the whole affair, and move along.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

“And in the spirit of our new understanding, and to solidify our alliance,” Hamilton bit his lip, “Laurens, may I kiss you?”

John stopped breathing. His heart beat at a tremendous pace.

Hamilton rushed to clarify, “As the French do, in friendly greeting?”

“You wish for us to kiss in the manner of the French? Neither of us are even European.”

“True,” Hamilton considered the issue, “Then may I suggest we kiss in the West Indian fashion? It is platonic, affectionate and customary among the islanders.”

Laurens noticed how his tongue flicked out to wet his lips in nervous agitation. He took the bait. “How does one execute such a kiss?”

“I shall educate you, by means of demonstration.” Hamilton replied, “Be aware there exists vital deviations from the French fashion. May I teach you?”

Laurens felt his breath catch, “I am not a quick learner.”

“I will go slowly,” Hamilton whispered, and with that, he edged closer to Laurens until his lips were hovering just above the other man’s.

“What should I do now?” Laurens breathed.

“Relax,” Hamilton murmured, “You are a good student.”

He pressed his mouth lightly against the other’s, causing butterflies to swarm in the pit of Lauren’s belly. His lips were soft, and quite dry, gentle and attentive. With a sigh, John parted his own lips, allowing Alexander’s tongue to slip inside his mouth. They kissed in such a soft manner for a while longer. Hamilton’s hand crept up to lie on John’s chest, and he could feel the heat emanating from their shared proximity. John angled his jaw upwards, and Hamilton melted against his touch, sighing happily into the kiss. Eventually, the younger man pulled away and John opened his eyes, having never been aware that they had fallen shut.

“The demonstration was excellent.” Laurens managed to say at length, and Hamilton smiled shyly, “But I must ask, to avoid any cultural insensitivity; the West Indian kiss – originating in the Caribbean, as I imagine it does – must it be performed only by one from the West Indies, such as yourself, or can it be initiated by a non-West Indian?”

Hamilton, dazed, took a second to comprehend John’s meaning.

“You may only kiss a West-Indian like that,” he warned in a light, teasing tone, “But if you are asking, my dear Laurens, if you may kiss _me_ again, then yes -  yes, I would very much like that.”

John hesitated no longer, and rushed forward to claim Hamilton’s lips once more. Hamilton let out a muffled gasp, and dragged Laurens closer. His grip was tight around John’s neck, and so John responded by pushing against Hamilton until the other man conceded, lying back against the bedroll and gazing up at Laurens in adoration.

John smiled down at him, before leaning in to gently nip his lower lip. Already he could feel an inimitable desire simmering below the surface of his skin, which was only stoked as Hamilton reached up to caress his face.

“John, you are so beautiful,” Alexander made it sound like confession.

John swallowed, “You flatter me.”

The other man shook his head aggressively and replied, “I flatter Miss Kitty with sonnets and letters and pretty things. I have never had to give anything to you, my dear Laurens, except myself.”

“You are not courting me.”

“No,” Hamilton agreed with a smirk, “I have already won you.”

Laurens was about to protest – to argue for the value of friendship – when Hamilton rolled his hips upwards, and John, who had somehow come to straddle him, felt a hot rush of pleasure. He reacted without thinking, slamming Hamilton down into a kiss before mouthing against his jaw line.

“John,” Hamilton gasped.

Laurens reprimanded him with a growl, and shifted his body weight so that he was settled completely over the over man. He sucked hard against the pale skin of Hamilton’s throat, and was rewarded with a high keening noise as Hamilton bucked against him. Their bodies, attracted by some force mightier than gravity, rushed to meet each other. Laurens ground down with his thighs and Alexander’s eyes flew open, his mouth slack with want and his breathing laboured. John ran his hands over Hamilton’s chest. He wished desperately to remove the other man’s shirt, but the morning light was brighter than ever, and he knew they had little time before the call came for them to rise. He resolved to make good use of these precious minutes, and rolled his hips against the heat of Alexander’s.

“John, please,” he moaned, “Do not tease me so.”

“My apologies,” Laurens hummed, “I thought this was how the West-Indians did it.”

He thrust against Hamilton’s hips, already feeling himself hard and lustful for more friction, and Alexander responded with equal force. They moved together, sometimes jarringly, sometimes in accordance as Laurens gripped Hamilton’s hair in one fist and Hamilton began whimpering like a man on fire.

“Laurens, faster!” He choked out, and John obliged, establishing a punishing rhythm that had Hamilton gasping on each stroke.

He could feel his release building and building, and with Hamilton writhing and moaning beneath him – having given up on trying to match John’s pace – his hips stuttered and he swore, back arching with one last thrust before he came to a standstill, sweat dripping off his skin. Hamilton rocked upwards in response, groaning deeply, as he too reached some kind of conclusion, trembling below the other man. They shared a look.

“Hamilton? Are you feeling alright?”

The other man nodded shakily, and tried to sit up, causing John to fall off his lap. The stayed wrapped together in the blankets, their shoulders brushing and their hearts still pounding. Silence filled the tent, only to be broken, somewhere in the distance, by the Reveille’s bugle.

John leaned forward and kissed Hamilton. It was sweet and lingering and heart-breakingly perfect.

“My dear, we must get to work.”

Hamilton grinned, “I doubt I am yet decent enough for Washington to see me.”

Laurens rolled his eyes, “You are never decent enough for the General, Hamilton, but that has never stopped you before.”

“Very true,” the other man agreed, stealing one last kiss before exiting the bed.

“I don’t think the laws of nature would be enough to stop you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I drew a picture for the first chapter, would you like to see it??  
> http://inspire-me-to-breathe.tumblr.com/post/155408275068/accidentally-on-purpose-drew-lams-art-for-my-own 
> 
> As always, kudos and comments much appreciated - love you all!


	3. Othello

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My goodness, I've had this chapter sitting in my drafts for so long bcos I'm so awkward when writing smut. However, I persevered and this is the sinful and shocking result
> 
> Heads up, this covers quite a few kinks... like Hamilton being kinda submissive, there's a lil bit of name-calling and a LOT of sexual tension while in public... but it's actually pretty tame... so... read on...

The days that followed were soft, both in sound and in temperament. The British continued to maintain a cautious distance from the camp and so a lull descended upon their daily lives. Hamilton, Laurens noted, was also softer. His disposition was softer, his speech was softer and, when he gazed at Laurens over the supper table, his eyes were softer. Their amiable friendship – which had threatened to burn up after that unmentionable night – now settled into a quiet sort of understanding.

As such, Laurens felt no qualms at being curled up by Alexander’s side as a small group of rambunctious aides, led by Lafayette, staged a particularly haphazard and unrehearsed showing of _Othello._ The players broke character more often than not, and shared hastily copied scripts in front of the fire in the secretaries’ room. Hamilton, to numerous protestations of disbelief, had not been inclined to participate, while Laurens’s reason for merely spectating stemmed from a mild dislike of the Bard’s words, following many years’ worth of abhorrent rhetoric lessons.

Even so, the play was quite excellent. Entertaining for reasons perhaps not intended, but welcome light relief from the miseries of war. George Washington himself had strode into the room halfway through Act One and taken a seat, peering with amusement at Tilghman’s Desdemona; who was draped in silken finery and displaying shapely calves under the full skirt.

The play raised everyone’s spirits – a fact proven in the bountiful applauses and laughter. Lafayette’s complete mispronunciation of some of the more archaic and Anglicized words was especially commendable. For a tragedy, it possessed more than a dash of the comedic.

“ _Give me a living reason she’s disloyal_.” Lafayette demanded, gesticulating wildly, as he played the indomitable Moor.

Hamilton shifted beside Laurens and he felt the other man’s head come to rest lightly on his shoulder, their legs already stretched out in a tangle. They were not the only ones who had assumed lounging positions around the fireplace, but this felt different from the easy camaraderie enjoyed by the other aides. Laurens was did not wish to consider why that may be.

He was distracted momentarily as Hamilton arched his back, stretching his limbs to encourage the blood flow after sitting so long, and inadvertently encroaching on Laurens’s personal space. Before he could scold the other man, his attention was fast refocused on the theatrical proceedings as Harrison, in Iago’s countenance, announced, “ _I lay with Cassio lately_ ”.

A shock of guilt had him trembling for a second as, unbidden, images of lying with Hamilton crept into his imagination. Iago was a soldier, and it was commonplace to share beds with a fellow soldier, he reminded himself. It was not so commonplace to initiate unlawful intimacy with them.

Harrison delivered his parts with a pleasant sort of lyricism, “ _In sleep I heard him say ‘Sweet Desdemona, let us be wary, let us hide our loves._ ’”

Apparently, John was not the only person moved by the account. Hamilton breathed in sharply, and tilted his face to study Laurens’s profile.

_“And then, sir, would he gripe and wring my hand, cry ‘O sweet creature!’ and then kiss me hard.”_

Laurens placed his hand on Hamilton’s knee to calm him. His skin was hot to touch, and vibrating at a rapid pace. John applied pressure to his grip as if in reprimand, and Hamilton stilled his trembling limbs.

_“As if he plucked up kisses by the roots that grew upon my lips,”_

He could not see the other man’s face, resolutely watching the play, but John was minutely aware of how every breath Hamilton took could be felt against the skin of his neck. The scent of Hamilton – fresh ink, smoke and musk – was freely available to his senses, and John couldn’t help but sink into the promise that familiar perfume offered.

_“He would lay his leg, over my thigh, and sigh, and kiss, and then cry ‘Cursed fate that gave thee to the Moor!’”_

The memories of their shared encounter inundated his mind. Hamilton, low enough in tone that no other could hear, moaned quietly. His head tilted back against Laurens’s shoulder, exposing his throat.

 _“Oh, monstrous!”,_ Lafayette proclaimed, “ _Monstrous!”;_ tears springing to his eyes as he covered his face with one hand.

Would this be how their good friend reacted, should he ever come to learn of what had transpired between them? Monstrous, indeed.

Laurens shook away that thought as Alexander edged more completely onto his lap.

“Hamilton!” he hissed in reproach, but the other man only shushed him to watch the unfurling scene with excessive focus, his eyes glazed and his hands jerkily reaching for John’s bare skin. From across the room, Aaron Burr made a disapproving noise at their commotion, and Laurens extended him an apologetic look. Lafayette remained ignorant of the interruption and, framed by the fire behind him, continued to bewail and bemoan, wringing his hands as he discovered the supposed truth of Desdemona’s infidelity. Some of the other men chuckled pleasantly in amusement but Laurens found himself unfit to partake in the merriment. He lamented his strength of will as his cheeks procured a darker and darker red in response to the press of his friend’s body against his own. Then, Hamilton ground down.

“Oh, Lord!” John swore.

The playing ceased and the entirety of the room turned their attentions to him. He scrambled for an excuse, while simultaneously trying to reposition the smaller man upon his lap and extinguish the hotness that had begun to spark inside him.

“Hamilton dug his aggressively sharp elbow into me,” he weakly explained as Hamilton appeared contrite. Laurens prayed that he would not wiggle again, lest he could not control his response.

Fortunately, the pretext stood. From a distant corner, Burr smiled, “If only we had armed our soldiers with Hamilton’s elbows instead of bayonets, we should have brought the British to surrender by now,” and, with matched joviality, Lafayette chuckled deep in his throat.

“Theatre etiquette, Monsieur Hamilton. Please do not abandon your own place during the performance in favour of the good Monsieur Laurens’s seat.”

“My apologies,” Hamilton all but gasped, “I felt something come over me. I am afraid I have taken ill.”

Lafayette cast a critical eye over him, “ _Mon cher_ , you do appear quite flushed. Perhaps you should retire?”

“By God, yes!” Hamilton shot upwards abruptly, “A laudable plan.” He glanced at the other occupants of the room, “Adieu, good men. Enjoy the remainder of this beloved farce.”

He stumbled, and then appeared to undergo an alteration of the mind, turning back to the company. With their questioning frowns still fixated in his direction, he grappled with John’s arm and pulled the other man upright while the others watched, nonplussed at his erraticism.

Hamilton blushed red. “I… require John’s assistance,” he mumbled before exiting as if the hounds of Hell themselves were snapping at his heels.

“Alexander, what-” John’s next words were consigned to silence before they could be uttered. Hamilton slammed the other man against the wall as soon as they had quit the room, his head cracking the plaster and a surprised yelp being drawn from his lips. Alexander then flung himself forward and caught John’s mouth roughly with his own. The attempt was messy and he missed his mark somewhat, but Laurens, with a deep sigh, redirected his efforts by tilting his jaw upwards. This was rewarded with a bruising kiss, in which Hamilton’s hot mouth latched onto his, and his bottom lip was sucked and nipped fiercely.

They were pressed flush against each other, and Hamilton was squirming against John, rubbing his groin against his thigh and making soft whimpering noises. John carded his fingers into Hamilton’s hair and tugged, once, sharply. His intention had been to get Hamilton to cease his ministrations, but instead it only strengthened them, dragging a high-pitched moan from the smaller man’s throat. Laurens paused at this, and tugged again; this time with enough force for Hamilton’s eyes to fly open. His pupils were enlarged, like dark pools of water, and John had never seen him so visibly agitated.

“John,” he whined, “John, my dearest John.”

Laurens forced air into his lungs, “Yes, Alexander?”

The other man simply looked distraught, biting his lip as he attempted to eradicate any residual space between their bodies. He shook his head, strands of hair falling loose from his queue.

“I do not know what I want.”

John’s heart stuttered. He pressed his lips drunkenly against Hamilton’s and allowed him to lick his way into Laurens’s mouth, loosening his jaw enough for their tongues to glide against each other. Impatient fingers curled around his waist, making Laurens shiver. The passion was sustained for as long as they had air, and then Hamilton broke away, panting and wrecked.

“I do not know… I feel…” he swallowed the words and resumed his attack on John’s mouth.

Beyond them, the last lines of the play could be heard with Lafayette’s distinctive accent rising clear above the little noises produced by Hamilton.

_“I kiss'd thee ere I kill'd thee: no way but this; killing myself, to die upon a kiss.”_

John bit back a moan, and pushed the other man away, holding him at arm’s length as Hamilton fought against the disruption.

“Hamilton, stop.”

The commanding note in his voice surprised John, but it was effective – instantly Hamilton dropped back, eyes trained on his, waiting breathlessly for permission to resume.

“The play approaches its cessation. We cannot remain here.”

Hamilton growled in disagreement, surging forward again to claim the skin at the hollow of John’s neck. He pressed sucking kisses wherever he could reach, his breath hot upon John’s throat.

“John,” Hamilton pleaded, “Don’t stop.” With that he shoved his hand between John’s legs and John jerked backwards, knees buckling.

“Good Lord,” Laurens cursed. He grabbed Hamilton’s hand with his, and forcefully withdrew the other man away, feeling himself light-headed with desire. “Behave yourself. You are not being a gentleman tonight. Far from it.”

“Please,” Hamilton gazed wretchedly at him, touching their foreheads together as he drew in a long, quavering breath. “I cannot help myself when you are near. I cannot-”, he broke off in a choked sob as a round of enthusiastic applause was instigated in the other room. John let their foreheads rest together, trying to collect himself. He squeezed Hamilton’s hand gently and forced the other man to make eye-contact.

“Shall we retire for the night?”

There was silence for a moment, before Hamilton nodded once, mutely, and Laurens led him outside by the arm.

“I suspect the others will inquire in the morning as to what had been the matter,” John whispered in Hamilton’s ear as they trudged back to their assigned tent. “Burr’s look was awfully knowing.”

Hamilton hummed in discontent, still trembling despite the heat of the night, “He would never understand.” A self-deprecating laugh filled the space around them, and Hamilton twisted into Laurens’s body as well as he was able to while they both were walking. His face was hidden against John’s throat, and he tightened his grip on the other man.

“Do you ever wonder, my dear Laurens, if we were brought together by God’s own hand?”

Laurens shrugged, hugging him closer as they neared their tent. “He is omnipotent. Does that not answer your question?”

“Then there is not free will,” Hamilton muttered, “We cannot be held accountable.”

“What do you-”, for the second time that night, Hamilton cut off Laurens with a heated attack, biting at his collarbone and sucking bruises into his skin.

They tumbled heavily into their tent and Alexander steered John towards the nearest bedroll. There was a moment of confusion as they arranged their limbs – Hamilton was in constant motion, writhing against John, which did not help matters – before they finally settled into a position with Alexander on John’s lap.

“Kiss me, John,” He panted, and John complied.

“Is this what you so desired earlier, but could not put a name to?” he teased as he worked his lips against the soft part of Hamilton’s throat.

“Almost,” Hamilton confessed, “But I’m afraid I still do not know my own mind.”

“There is little need. God is omniscient, as well as omnipotent. He already knows your mind.”

“Oh, horror!” Hamilton mumbled against John’s hair, “I dearly hope not, for I shall be condemned to Hell without trial.”

Lauren’s clucked his tongue, “Say no such thing.”

“It is sinful, don’t pretend you are unaware, my beloved.” Hamilton rolled his hips, sinking into his friend’s embrace while trying to maintain as much contact as possible. He dug his fingers into Laurens’s shoulders and rocked down upon John’s thighs.

“Hush, now,” Laurens’s responded with a gasp, softly stroking the back of Alexander’s neck, “Leave the theology for the morning. It is dark, God cannot see us.”

This was met with a mocking hum. “ _Heaven is my judge,_ ” Hamilton quoted Iago as he reached to undo Laurens’s breeches, spitting upon his palm. “ _I am not what I am.”_

Laurens’s lips parted, tipping his head backwards when Hamilton’s hands curled around his cock. His grip was tight and slick, jolting only slightly, and John grunted in a sinful way.

“Oh, Lord,” he breathed out as Hamilton’s thumb rubbed over his shaft. His hips bucked and the smaller man almost lost his balance where he was perched, straddling John’s thighs with his legs spread accommodatingly on either side of the bedroll.

“Faster,” John hissed, and Alexander multiplied his exertions, all the while grinding back and forth against the hot pressure of the body underneath him and letting out a litany of incoherent stuttering.

Laurens’s member was swollen and hard, and Hamilton’s fingers felt like a pleasure previously unknown to him. They clenched around the base and tugged in sporadic, quick bursts, fondling his balls and setting a frantic rhythm. Laurens was coming visibly undone, his heart pounding and his eyes rolling back. Then, Hamilton’s hand was withdrawn. He swore at the loss, his cock still aching and glistening now with wetness, before something even softer, even _wetter_ , enveloped his member. Hamilton’s mouth. Good Lord, his mouth was deceitfully talented – for all its eloquence and verbosity, Laurens had never seen nor felt those perfect lips wrapped around him in such a manner.

Hamilton eased John in as far as he could take him, and then even further. The feeling of fullness, of choking, was foreign but undeniably erotic. He felt the tip of Lauren’s penis hit the back of his throat and he gagged slightly, endeavouring in a moment of blind panic to relax his muscles and serve John well. He applied suction.

“Sweet Jesus,” Laurens cried out, “God damn us both to Hell!”

It was unlike anything he had ever experienced before, and Hamilton lips were dark and wet with saliva. John’s hands flew up to his hair and gripped hard, guiding Hamilton up and down to take more of him in each swallow. He was nearing climax, and his excitement was apparent: his hips thrust without restraint and his cock became stiff and pulsating in Hamilton’s mouth.

“You’re doing so well,” John gasped, forcing Hamilton down roughly, “Such a good whore for me.”

The word slipped out and Laurens nearly apologised, but Alexander amazed him by keening at the praise, his cheeks hollowing around John’s member and his eyes brightening with lust. He looked so sinful, so _perfect._ It was enough to send John over the edge and his muscles tensed, hips stuttering as he spilled his seed down Alexander’s throat as the world burned white, and not missing how the other man moaned at the taste. Hamilton endeavoured to swallow it all down as if it was mana in the desert, mouthing sloppily at John’s softening cock and nuzzling his cheek against his groin, oversensitive as he was. John pulled him up for a brutal kiss and their teeth clashed. He felt Alexander’s swollen and reddened lips against his own, and heard him begin whimpering quietly, only now moving to service himself.

“Do you desire me to…” Laurens trailed off, gazing lustfully at Alexander’s own erect member, but the other man shook his head.

“Just… talk to me. Please. It will be more than enough.” His eyes were watering, as a result of his recent enterprise or some other emotion, John could not be sure. He watched as Hamilton’s hand furiously moved and a light sweat broke over his skin, sticking to the long strands of hair that had escaped from the queue under John’s rough handling.

“Keep going, Alexander,” Laurens’s whispered, reaching out to rake the errant hair away from his eyes, “You look so beautiful like this.”

“Like a whore,” Alexander rasped, and John made a soft noise of agreement, leaning forward to close the distance between them.

“If only God could see you now.” His body shifted until he was supported above Alexander, not quite touching but rather imposing upon the other’s space, “Or rather, if only the _General_ could see you now, touching yourself like a virgin in a brothel, cheeks flushed and eyes wide. What would he think?”

Hamilton groaned, rearing his hips in frustration as his hand struggled to keep pace.

“I doubt you would be ashamed,” Laurens continued, ghosting his fingers along the ridge of Hamilton’s jaw, “I think you’d rather enjoy the debauchery, wouldn’t you, Hamilton?”

“Oh, John,”

Laurens felt his own face flush at the timbre of urgency in those two words, “I know you would. The way you attended to me so prettily.” He pressed a long, hard kiss to Hamilton’s mouth. “You did so well, my darling,”

Alexander cried out, reaching his furious climax and dropping his head. He sobbed into Laurens’s shirt as the sensations overcame him, lighting up his entire being like nothing else. John just held him in his arms, circling his thumb in the hollow of his shoulder blades and letting the man work his way through it. He came to rest his chin on Alexander’s shoulder, his cheek warm against his jaw, which was still quivering with exertion, and pressed small kisses to the juncture of Hamilton’s neck.

“The West Indians may kiss in greeting,” Laurens mused, speaking with good humour even though his mind was still reeling from what had just occurred, “But _that_ is how the South Carolinians say hello.”

Hamilton chuckled, blinking lazily, with his throat raw from abuse as he nestled closer to his friend, “Far superior, but not something you can do every day, I warrant.”

“Hmm,” Laurens pretended to considered it as he placed another kiss upon the top of Hamilton’s head, “We shall see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iago is sooo gay for Othello and no one can tell me otherwise. I have literally written essays on this and I will fight you
> 
> Also, check out what I drew for this chapter (http://inspire-me-to-breathe.tumblr.com/post/155745088288/some-people-cant-keep-their-hands-off-each-other) it's pretty good, I've been told
> 
> Finally, I'm still uncertain how this chapter turned out, so please comment and let me know what you thought! I will love you 5ever


	4. Delighting wild to rove

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started on this chapter months ago and am uploading it now, unfinished, because I felt guilty! If you want me to continue please leave a comment - I'm not fishing for compliments, but I'm just really lacking the energy and motivation for writing right now and could do with some encouragement. If you have any ideas of what you want to happen next, also shoot me a message because plots are hard lol

_“Our country's call, arouses all, who dare be brave and free!”_

Hamilton groaned at the noise, choosing instead to bury down further into the warmth of his bedroll than acknowledge it to any greater extent.

_“My love shall crown the youth alone, who saves himself and me.”_

His hand loosely swatted in the direction of the words (a song? It was impossible to ascertain) but connected only with warm skin and softness. His fingers curled around other fingers without conscious thought.

_“'Tis done! he cried, from thy dear side, now quickly I'll be gone; From love will I, to freedom fly, a slave to thee alone.”_

Perhaps if he showed his disapproval strongly enough, the singing would abate. Why must it be so loud and so close? A well-delivered sigh of exasperation ought to do it.

 _“And when I come with_ Laurens _home,”_

Hamilton bolted upright.

“What?”

Lafayette only smirked, and sang on, “ _and all that freemen crave, to crown my love,”_

A panicked glance around the tent produced very compromising evidence. Hamilton, tangled up and bare-chested in the blankets with Laurens, still asleep and nestled against his side. The scent of intimacy hung like wine in the air. Their hands were clasped together.

 _“Your smiles shall prove,”_ And there was Lafayette, sprawling, with apparent leisure, with his feet rested on the desk top and a gleeful expression on his face, reciting melodically.

“I beg you, be quiet!” Hamilton hissed, but the Frenchman ignored him, choosing rather to swing his legs down from the table and peer down at the mortified pair.

 _“The fair reward the brave.”_ he finished softly. “Did you not like my song?”

Hamilton flushed in annoyance, “How could I like something that condemns me? That condemns Laurens?”

His friend’s lip twitched upwards, “Am I not greatly inventive to exchange the rather overplayed classicism of ‘laurels’ with ‘Laurens’?”

“Yes,” Hamilton snapped, “Very clever. Now I must insist you explain to me why you are here at such an hour in our tent, singing ridiculous ballads!”

“I came to inquire as to your health, Monsieur Hamilton, for you surely looked quite stricken earlier with a sudden illness.” Lafayette raised an eyebrow, “How do you fare?”

“Very well, thank you,” Hamilton responded. He appraised the other man with wariness. Why did he just sit there, acting as if finding two comrades together was the most natural thing? “What time is it?”

“Past midnight.”

Laurens rolled onto his back, loosening his grip on Hamilton, before blearily blinking open his eyes.

“My love,” he whispered, gazing up at Hamilton, unaware of the third member of their company, “Why are you awake?”

Alexander hesitated but did not have to answer before Lafayette cut in.

“Dear Laurens, do not mind me. I was merely enquiring over Hamilton’s health. He looks much more lively now, does he not?”

Laurens, to his credit, did not flinch, although his countenance did take on a sickly white shade.

“Lafayette,” he greeted him weakly, “I – I do not know what to say.”

The man in question let out a dismissive huff of air. “Say nothing. It is evident to me what the situation is. I regret that you did not tell me sooner.”

Hamilton scrambled into a sitting position. “No, my friend, you are quite mistaken. The ‘situation’ is not a situation.” He glanced helplessly at Laurens, “This is young in its days and not…” Lafayette stood up suddenly, “A situation,” Hamilton finished, his conviction failing.

“You are delirious with exhaustion,” Lafayette declared as he strode to the tent’s exit, “You best sleep now and quit this foolish talk, at least until morning.”

“Good counsel,” Hamilton found his fingers latching onto Laurens’s arm, “but I implore you, _mon cher ami_ , do not, if you have any mercy at all, do not tell the general of this.”

The Frenchman paused, “This?”

Hamilton gritted his teeth, “Yes… our sleeping arrangements. They are the private matter of Laurens’s and myself and I beg you do not divulge the particulars of tonight with Washington, or with anyone else. Do you understand?”

The response was slow and heavy, “Of course, my friends. I will not betray your confidence. However, if I may in turn give you a word of warning?”

Laurens’s spoke in affirmation on behalf of them both.

“Do not allow yourselves to be caught again.”  


The appeal was met with silence. Something low and devastating dropped into the pit of Hamilton’s stomach, and he furiously tried to maintain the gaze of Lafayette. The implication of what he had said hung heavy in the air. Beside him, Laurens’s hung his head.

Hamilton swallowed, “I give you my word.”

The promise was enough, and with a curt nod of understanding, Lafayette took his leave from the tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Laf is singing was a popular song of the times, called 'COLINET AND PHEBE', which you can see more of here http://www.traditionalmusic.co.uk/american-revolution/songs-ballads%20-%200212.htm 
> 
> Comments appreciated, love you all and thank you for sticking with me x


	5. Kind Intimation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I managed to finish it! The sex took me seven hours to write oh my days but anyway! I hope you enjoy it, I love you all so much for your beautiful comments and words of support. I could not have done this without you, and I'm actually so proud of this fic!
> 
> (also watch out for the weird time skip, it's pretty obvious, I just couldn't be bothered to think of a clever way to transition)

War stopped for no man – this, Washington knew. However, moments like these, when the evening air had stilled and grown dull with warmth, certainly suggested the contrary. One could almost imagine a different world when the fire crackled just so; a world, perhaps, less concerned with territory and blood, ownership and possession. An Elysium of sorts, where the rolling fields of the Continent were farmlands instead of battlegrounds, and the only Red Coats in sight were the pelts of his fine French Hounds. After all, wasn’t that the world they were fighting for?

The old General sighed, prompting Hamilton to raise his head in inquiry. The secretary had been poised over his work for the majority of the afternoon, but this was the first time he’d acknowledged anything but the words in front of him. Washington waved his questioning look aside and turned his attention to the stack of letters awaiting him on the table. Before he’d even opened the first one, the scratching sound of Hamilton’s quill had resumed, and it made Washington smile. The boy certainly had a knack for single-mindedness.

The return address at the top of the page was smudged slightly, but the word ‘Philadelphia’ was still comprehensible. Unfolding the letter revealed Henry Laurens’ hand, and his reassurance that Congress would send aid at Washington’s own insistence. Be that as it may, the army needed more supplies than Congress was willing to give, and he doubted that any imploring on his part would increase the quantity of blankets or the quality of arms to any significant degree. Hamilton’s clever words, however, arranged in an appeal, may do the trick. Washington mused upon it, and decided to assign the task tomorrow morning once Hamilton was well-rested.

He skimmed the rest of the letter with half his mind busied with tomorrow’s duties. He was expecting a report from Tallmadge before noon, and it would be advisable to send a patrol down the south edge of the river to defer further British encroachment.

Alas, he would attend to those matters presently. He read on.

_“I return Your Excellency my hearty thanks for the kind intimation respecting my Son, or as I now hold him, my worthy fellow Citizen, Lieut. Colonel Laurens.”_

Washington chuckled, detecting the paternal pride engraved in these words. John Laurens was a good solider, dedicated to the cause and as brave as the best of them. Henry himself had risen to the rank of Lt. Colonel during the French and Indian War, and it was apparent, even within his few short months of enlistment, that the son had inherited a generous portion of his father’s fighting spirit.

_“…which came the more acceptably as full three weeks had elapsed since the date of his last Letter”_

Again, the mirth bubbled up in Washington’s chest. Laurens’ was rather hap-hazard in his communications, and seemed disinterested in maintaining long-term correspondence with any but a few. War had the habit of forcing friends from each other, and Washington wondered if separation from Hamilton might prompt a more dedicated effort of letter-writing. Glancing quickly at the man in question, whose brow was furrowed in concentration, the General had little doubt that this particular friendship would survive any such distance. He wondered why this notion troubled him so.

_“I am With the most sincere Esteem & Regard Sir Your Excellency’s much Obliged Humble Servant.” _

By and by, Washington arrived at the cessation of the letter. He folded it neatly and rested his hands on his lap, his gaze once again falling to the exhausted man in front of him. Hamilton’s hands were stained with ink. Not three months ago, those same hands had been tainted with red, not black. Washington could only be grateful that it was not the case tonight. The evening was too blissful for bloodshed.

“Hamilton,” Washington spoke, and the younger man visibly withdrew himself from his thoughts, blinking up at his General.

“Yes, sir?”

“Retire for the night. I have tasks for you to complete in the morning.”

Hamilton narrowed his eyes in a show of defiance, “Allow me to complete this dispatch.”

Washington held back a bark of laughter. “No. Go to bed. Poor Laurens will be awaiting your return so he can snuff out the candle.”

A slight smile wormed its way onto Hamilton’s face, and Washington saw his opening.

“You wouldn’t want to leave him waiting, would you?” he continued.

“No, sir.”

“Then off to bed.”

With a few more half-hearted protests that Washington suspected were more for show than anything else, Hamilton set aside his writing apparatus and rose, stretching his cramped fingers and finally allowing his posture to relax. He paused just before he reached the door, and hesitantly turned back to face the General.

“Sir? May I appeal to you for advice? Regarding a personal matter?”

Washington didn’t let his surprise show, “What is it, son?”

Hamilton tried to suppress his unease as he edged back to the table, slumping down in a chair closer to Washington. It took him a moment to collect his thoughts, and when he was ready, he spoke softly. Softer than Washington had ever heard him speak.

“Does it not seem strange that one can find peace during wartime?”

The statement echoed Washington’s previous thoughts and he reflected that a night as gentle as this one may have many men wondering the same thing. After all, it was the middle of summer and the season was at its most agreeable.

“Strange, aye, but not unwelcome.” He took note of the way Hamilton’s shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly, “A man’s place in war does not mean that he must be hunted and set upon at every turn. Remember, son, this is a marathon, not a sprint. It’s advisable to find personal solace every once in a while.”

Hamilton nodded, “And what if the source of one’s… solace was to disappear?”

Washington cast a level eye at the other man and spoke slowly and deliberately, “Do you refer to Colonel Lieutenant Laurens?”

Hamilton froze, a curious blush colouring his cheekbones, “In a manner of speaking, I suppose I do refer to John.”

“Well, then,” Washington leant back in his chair and appraised Hamilton, “You will have to teach him the good habits of prompt and impassioned letter-writing.”

The blush seemed to darken. “Yes, sir,” Hamilton muttered, looking to withdraw.

“That is not to say that you should expect to spend long periods of time apart. It _is_ likely, within the orders of war, but nothing remains certain, and the future cannot be foretold. Perhaps you and Mr Laurens will enjoy many a happy year in each other’s company.”

“I… I hope so, Sir.” Hamilton said quietly, his voice trembling.

His reaction was all very curious, Washington decided, but, as noted before, this was a personal matter and he did not intend to delve deeper than Hamilton himself was willing to go. He took pity on the younger man and dismissed him for the night, and, this time, Hamilton fled quickly, leaden with misplaced embarrassment.

All very curious.

Washington neatly filed Henry Laurens’ letter away and made a note to draft a response in the morning, late as it was. He too rose, intending to retire, when he noticed a sheet of tightly rolled paper by the chair Hamilton had commandeered that evening. How odd for Hamilton to be so forgetful.

Washington stooped down, cursing his temperamental back, and retrieved it. It appeared to be a personal letter addressed to a Miss E. Schuyler. Well, it would be unfavourable to leave such an intimate thing lying around in case another aide may chance upon it. The only decent course of action would be to return it to its owner as soon as possible, and Washington often enjoyed a stroll around the camp to relax his mind before bed. A detour to Hamilton’s tent would be of no inconvenience.

He gathered his belongings and strode into the night. The walk was not far, and he stopped often to converse with the sentries placed at various intervals along the perimeter. The horizon had finally swallowed the sun, leaving bloody entrails across the sky as Washington reached Hamilton’s shared tent.

He halted at the entrance in order to retrieve the letter from his pocket and was subsequently glad he had done so, because as soon as he had paused, he became aware of some peculiar noises emanating from inside.

 

At first, Washington assumed his ears had deceived him, but the longer he stood, balanced on the threshold with only a thin piece of canvas dividing the two scenes, the more assured he became of the situation. He distinctly heard Hamilton’s voice arcing upwards in a pleading tone, and Lauren’s corresponding reply, which he imagined was deeper in pitch and more commanding. This knowledge surprised Washington somewhat, as Hamilton was infamous for both his pride and his ferocity. The thought that he could concurrently act submissive was a notion that had never occurred to the General before, and, if he was being honest, not one he had ever wished to have, or have again.

The muffled sounds of fabric gliding over skin and wet pants of breath increased both in tempo and volume. How they could be so bold, Washington could not fathom. The next tent was merely seven feet away.

Should he step in? His duty as their commanding officer was to protect them, but this was a crime punishable by castration, whipping or even death – if he ordered it to be so. The army could not afford to lose two brilliant Lieutenant Colonels. He believed that whole-heartedly. But he couldn’t allow something like this to happen under his jurisdiction, lest others, who were more hostile than he, found out and exposed the two to calumny and condemnation. If they were hanged for this he would never forgive himself.

And yet… the way Laurens looked at Hamilton. The way Hamilton would lay down his quill, even for just a minute, to speak with his friend as he passed through.

Accompanying those musings was a revelation. Washington suddenly understood the curious feeling from before, and reassessed the private conversation he and Hamilton had shared not an hour ago. Ah, so that was it. The two men were in love.

Washington was somewhat alarmed that the revelation held no sentiment of unease or disgust. If anything, it stirred warm feelings of paternal fondness in his chest. While he knew it to be a sin, he saw here only good Christian love, and, as both a father and a soldier, he recognised the imperative, the drive, to protect the things held dearest to him. Hamilton and Laurens were content, and thus, so was he.

With this in mind, he returned the letter to his pocket and retreated to the worn paths which would lead him to his own bed. He absently wondered why Hamilton would be in conversation with this Miss Schuyler when he seemed to have found all the companionship he needed much closer to home. In any case, Washington reminded himself with a hint of deprecation, it was none of his concern. Hamilton would just have to reclaim the letter tomorrow, and that would be the end of it.

Earlier

Hamilton felt his nerves rising like the sea at High Tide. His talk with Washington had been unsettling to say the least, but through no fault of the General’s. He was the fool – he should never have presented the subject, much less ask for judgement. Some things were not made for public discussion.

These concerns were what occupied his mind as he traced the familiar route back to his lodgings, but as he neared the tent, he found his thoughts aligning more with another subject. For brevity’s sake, he labelled those thoughts ‘John’.

Ah, John.

Where to begin?

A winter had passed since their first moment of intimacy, when Hamilton stumbled back drunk with a mind over-ripe with intent and desire. Poor Laurens had humoured him that time, and had continued to do so throughout the cold, dark nights of the hostile season. As the days became warmer, so too did their exchanges. Hamilton could recall the vivid sensations of a rough grip and whispered words, as well as the softness of lips and the gentle manner with which Laurens held him.

But tonight – Oh, for his sins, he could not explain the cause of his agitation! Perhaps it had been his conversation with Washington. The General appeared to be aware of the relationship, and had spoken firmly, even as he hid his condemnation. The bright, intense look he had shot Hamilton moments before saying John’s name was an indication of his true feelings. Hamilton could not doubt that the General had shown his disapproval tonight.

As much as that thought both sadden and terrified him, it had in no way supressed his yearning desire to feel John pressed against him in the shadows. Hamilton supposed that, debauched and hedonistic as he was, there was very little in the waking world that could conquer his feelings for Laurens. If God descended at that very moment, not even his wrath would alter Hamilton’s affections or intentions in any material way. Ha! He would like to see God try.

All these thoughts confused themselves. They spilled over his concentration, and he had arrived in front of his tent without realising it. A sick wave of apprehension flooded his heart for a moment. Should he knock and make his presence known? He decided against it, for who else would Laurens be expecting at this time of night? If he had a secret lover, Hamilton was yet to find out.

Smiling wryly to himself, he pushed through into the shared living space and promptly stopped short.

Laurens met his eye mid sit-up.

“Hello, Alexander,” he said evenly, shirtless and breathing full lungfuls from the exertion. His muscles were pulled taut, his stomach quivering from the strain and his hair pushed back from his eyes.

“Laurens.” Alexander choked out. He felt immediately hot, as if he had been the one exercising. He was staring.

John slowly lowered himself, and then lay back, propping himself up with one arm so he could study Hamilton. A light sheen of sweat made his body glow gold in the candle light. Oh, he was divine. Now this was a God Hamilton could worship.

“Please do not halt your endeavours for my sake,” he said without any real conviction.

John smirked as if he were a psychic and Alexander’s mind was his recreation ground. “Hold my feet?”

Alexander shuffled forward and gently pinned down John, wrapping his hands around his ankles. John offered a word of thanks before resuming his exercise. He rose, straining closer to Hamilton with each pass, until, at the apex of his sequence, they were but a breath away from each other. John kept his eyes trained on Alexander the whole while.

“John,” he warned as he felt the heat pooling deep inside of him. John chuckled fondly and ignored Hamilton’s impatience. Absolute, uninhibited want was coursing through him, shooting from his fingertips, which were now digging into Laurens’ skin, and all the way through his veins, burning his blood into nothing less than brilliant fire.

The challenge had been set by Laurens’ knowing smile. Hamilton stared him down, knowing that despite his sharp-edged focus, John was suffering just as much as he. There was a tension simmering in the depth of his gaze, behind the finely cultivated mask of imperviousness.

Alexander felt himself growl and he launched forward, pinning Laurens to the floor and trapping him under his eager body. John gasped in surprise and immediately connected their lips, kissing him and wrapping his arms around his waist as Hamilton licked into his mouth.

“God,” John gritted out, nipping at Alexander’s bottom lip. His hand came to rest, burning with the contact, on the back of Alexander’s neck. “Why must you always work so late? Why must the General occupy your time and not I?”

He dragged his mouth along Alexander’s jaw before the other man could answer, tightening his grip in his hair and pressing his lips in accusation to the sensitive skin of his throat. Alexander bared his neck. He sighed in pleasure and wrapped himself tighter around John.

Through the haze of his own arousal, he detected John’ hardness grinding against his thigh, and he repositioned himself to shamelessly align their crotches more accurately. John hissed through his teeth at the contact, and Hamilton squeezed his knees against Laurens’ sides, straddling him and rolling his hips downwards in order to elicit more beautiful sounds.

John did not disappoint. He moaned lowly even as he reached for Alexander’s buttocks and the other man gasped, dropping his forehead against John’ naked shoulder in exhilaration.

“Please,” he begged, eyes firmly closed, “John, I cannot-”

John did not wait for him to finish his sentence before he flipped them over, slamming Hamilton bodily into the floor and forcing his head back to administer more wet kisses to the underside of his jaw.

“So beautiful, but so needy.” John chuckled, and Alexander whined – partly in pleasure, and partly in agreement.

Somehow, John had divested them of their clothes, although Hamilton’s shirt remained. The night air was still cold, despite the season, and it sent shivers coursing over his skin. It was enough to distract him so that the sensation of John’s thumb pressed against his entrance was unexpected. He bucked his hips up, allowing better access.

This was something they had never done before. John often teased, but they both retained the belief that sodomy was a sin, regardless of any other form of intimacy shared between them. Except now John’s finger was circling his hole and Alexander felt a tug in his gut that demanded satisfaction. There was no room for morality in the space between their bodies.

“F-f-fuck, John,” he gasped, arching his back as pleasure jolted through him. One hand jerked up to fist the fabric of John’s shirt and he clung onto it as if his life depended upon it. John hadn’t yet progressed beyond playful exploration, but the way his fingers kneaded against his flesh, almost reverently, had Alexander writhing and panting. The desperation was evident in the flush upon his cheeks and way his mouth hung slack as he fought against his instinct to seek greater contact.

“Please,” Alexander half-wailed.

John didn’t have the words or the capacity to reply. He fumbled for a moment, withdrawing despite Hamilton’s complaints, and suddenly was pressing something cold and slick against Alexander’s entrance.

“What-” Hamilton groaned, “What on earth is that?”

John laughed, biting briefly into the joint of Hamilton’s shoulder. “It’s just olive oil, my love. Nothing to fear.”

“But it’s so cold!”

Alexander resolved to distract himself from the not-unpleasant, but rather uncomfortable, contrast of the cool oil and the hot burn as Lauren’s pressed into him, by thrusting up to satiate the need for friction. A sudden, sharp flicker of pain seared across his buttocks and he gasped.

“Be still,” Laurens’ ordered. Ironically, at this command, Hamilton jerked against his palm and was punished with another smack. His balls tightened and he felt his stomach flip as if he was falling. Crying out, a third slap struck his skin.

Hamilton let his head thunk back against the floor and he lay, blood pounding in his ears, staring resolutely at the ceiling as he attempted to reassert dominance over his own body. The sting still echoed through his muscles and his heart was racing.

John made an odd noise, “Do you like that?”

Hamilton turned his face away to hide how his cheeks flared red, but John did not appreciate his reticence and gripped at his jaw, forcing his eyes to meet his.

“Did you like that?” he repeated, with more force.

Alexander swallowed and nodded.

“Good. Now turn over.”

His words burned with desire. It was over-whelming, and Alexander complied with a surprising amount of willingness, twisting his hips and flipping onto his stomach. He rested his forehead in the crook of his radioulnar joint. John was lightly kneading the back of his thighs with his fingertips, and Alexander sighed in contentment as he felt a gentle palm grazing over his hole.

“How do you feel?” John whispered, lowering his head so Alexander could hear him over the pounding in his ears.

“Blessed,” he shuddered as John’s hot mouth pressed a brief kiss to the nape of his neck.

“Do tell me if you wish for us to stop.”

John rested a tender hand at the crease where Alexander’s thigh met his hip, and he tugged with just enough force for Alexander to understand his intentions and amenably raise his ass in the air.

John’s finger entered again slowly, carefully. There was so much devotion suffused in his movements. By the time he had teased in two fingers, Alexander was beyond coherence, burying his face into his arm and letting forth little gasps and whimpers that he would undoubtedly claim never transpired once the whole affair was over.

“John, my love, please!” he huffed, rocking back onto John’s finger. For once, John didn’t scold him for his impatience and instead worked a third finger in, enjoying the keening sounds generated by Alexander. He was a sight to behold, and John greedily lapped up the delicious visual that Hamilton presented; stretched out below him, legs parted and thighs shaking with want. Laurens’ own cock lay heavy and erect, as of yet untouched, but he hardly noticed. All he could see was the beautiful creature in front of him.

In that moment, with Alexander – radiant, wrecked, writhing as if his insides were on fire – John felt a need so strong he was staggered by it. He wanted Hamilton. It was the only thing he wanted.

“Fuck me, please,” Alexander mouthed, barely daring to speak the words allowed. “John, I need you inside of me.”

That was it. John groaned with lust and sat back on his haunches, slicking himself up with the remaining oil, and biting his bottom lip in an attempt to control himself.

Once satisfied with the lubrication, John nudged at Alexander’s entrance. He ensured he lined the tip up as precisely as possible to reduce any unnecessary pain.

Alexander, who had been patiently waiting, let out a deep, happy sigh. “Do not think to be gentle with me, Laurens.”

“Oh, God!” John muttered. His breath hitched as his resolve finally broke and he slid right in.

It was exhilarating. At last, Alexander found Heaven.

The air around him crackled with electricity and he felt the earth trembling beneath him. He clenched his teeth as the tectonic movements invoked fire from the depths of the earth’s core to come pouring out through John’s finger tips, branding him where his nails scraped against his skin. He lost his breath, lost all sense of geography as John’s thrusts became harder. He existed only within the confines of this reality, within the confines of this body, this flesh and blood which yielded under the force of his lover, and opened up, gave way to nothing but _this._

This.

Lord, forgive him, but _this_ could not be a sin.

John seemed to agree, if his grunts were a clear indicator of his opinion. He slammed his hips forward, dragging Alexander back by the waist and making him groan.

“You feel so good,” John huffed, “So hot and tight.”

Hamilton’s cock, trapped as it was, twitched at the praise, and he tried to find some relief by rubbing against the ground. He could taste blood in his mouth – had he bitten his tongue?

The heat between them was almost unbearable. The raw, primal urge to feed on each other’s lust was heady and intoxicating, and the only sounds they made were ones of untempered pleasure; breathy gasps and broken moans that settled on their skin and burned hot. 

John swore and Alexander, acting on instinct, began thrusting back at a greater tempo and strength. A hand landed in his hair and pulled, stinging his scalp, but Alexander didn’t falter. Instead he keened, high and loud, and dipped his head forward to elicit the wonderful pain-pleasure again. John, as distracted as he was, seemed to recognise Alexander’s need for physical sensational, and landed another blow, this time to his outer thigh. The hand tugged at Alexander’s hair again and he felt like Heaven was bearing down upon them.  

Judging by the stuttering of John’s hips, the feeling was mutual. They lost the rhythm somewhat, but at this stage it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the harshness of John’s thrusts and the feeling of skin, damp and hot, skating against the expanse of their bodies.

Alexander could feel the pressure increasing in his balls. The heat churned in his abdomen to the point where the pain was too much, too real, and he cried out, coming with John’s named seared upon his lips. He twisted his neck around as far as possible to kiss John’s mouth, desperate as a furious hurricane of _too much_ and _not enough_ swept through his biology, until at last the heat, _the noise_ , flooded out and his skin dimmed in the candle-light.

John came in quick succession, tears pricking his eyes as his pace faltered, and he grabbed hold of Alexander’s sides. The contact was the only thing that kept him grounded as lightning strike after lightning strike resounded through his body. He mouthed sloppily into Hamilton’s kisses and weathered the rush of endorphins until at last, exhausted but satisfied, he slumped down upon Hamilton’s back, his spent come already trickling out between the other man’s thighs.

“I love you,” Alexander said quietly, eyes resolutely facing forward and away from John, “But I am afraid.”

The air, which had once been electric, was cooling quickly around them.

John eased himself out and proceeded to clear up, trying to supress the anxiety that arose at Hamilton’s confession. “Of what?” he asked, his voice gentle if somewhat forced.

“I am afraid that you love me too, and that you should be damned to Hell for it.”

John sat for a moment, stunned, before rearranging himself so he lay down beside Alexander and could wrap him in his arms.

“My own private Hell would be to have you parted from me.” Laurens whispered, pressing a soft kiss to Alexander’s forehead, “At least, if we are damned, we can spend eternity together.”

“John,” Alexander looked up, gazing at him with poorly-concealed adoration, “We are at war. There are no guarantees.”

Laurens shrugged, “There never are. But, know this: I will wait for you. Whether that may be in South Carolina, or Europe, or even Hell, you and I will not remain apart forever.”

Something wet landed on his cheek, and John realised that his watery eyes had spilled over. Hamilton stared in wonder at the tears.

“If you reach the after-life before me,” Hamilton couldn’t bring himself to say ‘Hell’ this time, “Please do promise you’ll write.”

John laughed, tucking his nose into the crook of Hamilton’s neck, “Why, my dear boy, of course. Anything for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (While researching this I found out Washington was born in Westmoreland County, Virginia, and the country I live in is Westmorland (all the way across the sea) this info made me happy)
> 
> Henry Laurens' letter can be found here:http://founders.archives.gov/documents/Washington/03-16-02-0444 
> 
> Also, just a note on Eliza. Officially she didn't meet Hamilton until like 2 years later, but apparently they did both dine with Washington together before this fic is set, so for the sake of the story, let's just go with it.
> 
> Well, I am exhausted but happy. I hope you like it! Look out for more fics in this series in the future ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it!
> 
> Fun fact: while researching, I discovered that in 1772, 'shaft of delight' was slang for 'penis'... so, you know... just mentioning that... 
> 
> Also, I'm considering writing some more of Hamilton's and Lauren's 'encounters', getting progressively gayer and gayer, so let me know if this sounds good! If you have any suggestions, let me know!
> 
> Find me on tumblr http://inspire-me-to-breathe.tumblr.com/


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